


The Sting of Nostalgia, the Bite of Your Blood

by Eristastic



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Fluff and Angst, Other, POV Second Person, Self-Harm, Soft Chara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/Eristastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel might not understand Chara yet, but he thinks he's getting there. And even if he doesn't, he's not sure he'd mind. After all, they're together, aren't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sting of Nostalgia, the Bite of Your Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for explicit self-harm, a lot of blood, and all the body horror that comes with buttercup poisoning.
> 
> This was emotionally taxing to write, but ohhhh these two

Your feet splash into another puddle and you cringe, hating the squelching sound of mud that’s definitely going to cling to your fur, and then when you go back through Hotland it’s going to mat and it’s all going to be a horrible mess, you just know it. But Chara’s got your hand in a death grip (and yours is just as strong on theirs) so there’s not really any place to be complaining. They’d probably just laugh anyway, wouldn’t they? They laugh at a lot of the things you complain about. It’s part of the reason you do it.

You don’t think anyone hears their laugh as much as you do, and it’s not even a nasty laugh most of the time.

They keep pulling you through Waterfall, through paths you never knew existed. It’s a steady rhythm of their shoes and your feet slamming through grass, water and marsh; your heavy breathing and pounding pulse in your ears; the rush of water and the whisper of Echo Flowers you don’t have the time to listen to. Chara wants you two to be somewhere, so you won’t waste time.

Or rather, Chara wants you two to _not_ be somewhere, and that’s the root of the problem, isn’t it? If your parents knew, they wouldn’t be happy that you were…what was that word they told you again? _Enabling_ Chara like this, but your parents aren’t here. You’re a big kid now, anyway. You know this can’t hurt.

That doesn’t mean you’ll follow along like a dumb doll, though.

“You’re…you’re never going to get used…to people…if you don’t… _try_ , you know,” you pant, shouting it loud enough for them to hear you over the cascade of water tumbling down just behind you. All of a sudden, they come to a halt and you almost run into them, falling down onto the grass. They don’t let go of your hand, but they look at you and catch their breath.

Yours is a lot shorter than theirs, and they can speak properly long before you can.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” they say. Their eyes glint red, startling against the backdrop of blues and browns, and their face looks even gaunter than usual in the low flush of Echo Flowers.

You frown. “That’s silly.”

“It’s not.”

“It _is_ , though! There’ve got to be loads of nice people out there for you to meet, you just won’t make an effort!” You sound like your mum, a bit, and you’re not sure how to feel about that. Proud, maybe, but embarrassed too.

Chara grins. “You sound like Mum.”

“Yeah, I know…”

Full-on embarrassment, then. Alright.

“Oh, don’t look like that.” They help pull you to your feet and watch as you brush yourself down and whine when you see what the mud’s done to your trousers. “Let’s keep going.”

You feel them tug on your hand again, but you are standing firm, not moving: you’re going to be just as strong as your dad and you will Not Stand For This.

Your feet skid a little in the mud, even so.

“No, Chara, don’t! Let’s just stay here: haven’t we gone far enough?”

“Far enough? I thought we were just going for a run. Were we not going for a run?”

They’re going all avoidant again, but they know it just as well as you do: that grin tells no lies (or it does, most of the time actually, but the line sounds cool so you brush over that point). You wouldn’t even mind about them running away from visitors for the third time that week, but you just want them to be honest with you about it.

Looking at their expression, you think that might be a lost cause.

“Chara…” you whine in that voice you know they hate, “we definitely weren’t going for a run.”

“Really? That’s a pity. Running’s good for you, you know.”

“Chara…”

“Strengthens the legs, trains the lungs: it’s all very healthy-”

“Chara, this has nothing to do with anything!”

“-and you’re all always telling me how I need to watch my health, right?” They smile with no trace of goodwill anywhere.

Ooh. That one had a bit more bite than usual. You drop your head but you don’t quite have the courage to let go of their hand. You don’t want to, either.

“S-sorry.” You don’t know why you’re apologising, but it came out anyway. Chara waits for you to finish. “I just want you to talk to me about it,” you say in a small voice.

You can see their shoes coming closer but you don’t lift your head. Chara doesn’t like having eye contact thrown at them, even when it’s you. They come closer, and closer, and you can feel your breath catch in your throat. You wonder if they might hug you.

But there’s a sharp tug on your ear instead, and you look up indignantly, ripping your hand from theirs to hold your poor suffering ear.

“What was _that_ for?!” you demand, trying not to pout, but they’re almost laughing at you so you think you’re failing.

“For being mushy,” they say matter-of-factly. “This is a no-mush zone, Asriel. No mushiness, no sappiness, no wishy-washiness.”

“I wasn’t even being mushy!”

You’re holding your ears protectively so they resort to their second-favourite way of messing with you: booping your nose.

“You _were_.”

Struggling to protect both ears and your nose with only two hands, you glare at them. “Well, what’s wrong with being mushy sometimes? I don’t want you just bottling everything up and pretending you’re totally fine! I know you’ve got things you should talk about too, so I think you should talk about them!”

For a second, they look at you curiously, but then the grin is back. “Alright.”

Your hands drop. “R-really?”

“Mm. If you can win against me in a race to Snowdin.”

“Chara, that’s just running away again!”

“Then let’s do something else, ugh! You’re so picky.”

“Am not,” you grumble, but you try not to sound too put out. They’re closing up on you already: you can tell.

“Then let’s go.” Pointedly putting their hands in their pockets, they stalk off. You follow them, a few paces behind, trying to work up the courage and the words to say something else but not finding either.

A few minutes of whispery, watery silence pass by, and you notice that they’re heading for a much darker path than the others. Unthinkingly, you reach out to take their hand.

“Chara, I don’t think that’s the right way.”

“We’re out for a walk, idiot: any way’s the right way.”

“Yeah, but…”

There aren’t any Echo Flowers this way, no gems in the ceiling, and there’s just grassy-banked black water glinting softly with what light it can find.

Chara turns to look at you, and you can’t reject any eye contact they give you freely. You just can’t. You feel transfixed by them, by the softness in their harsh, mocking amusement.

“You’re not _scared_ , are you? We’ll be together, you know.”

It’s something they say to you a lot, and you wish they wouldn’t. You like the second part, but it’s all so tinged with laughter and teasing that you can’t stand it and you can’t see why they have to say it.

But you follow them, anyway.

 

***

 

Nothing even seems wrong as you walk into Chara’s room, tugging your blanket along with you to see if they want to talk until way past your bedtime. The light’s on, so you open your mouth to call out an excited whisper, but then you actually _see_ and your mouth freezes. All of you does. The door swings closed behind you, slamming into the frame but you can’t even care if your parents hear: all you can do is watch what’s in front of you.

You don’t understand.

“C-Chara…?” you say, because what else is there to say?

There’s so much blood.

They turn to look at you from where they’re sitting on the floor, and they don’t look surprised or angry. They don’t look… _anything_. There’s no expression on their face at all: just wide, wide eyes as red as the criss-crossing on their arms. There’s a knife in their hands: you recognise it, because it’s from your kitchen, isn’t it? Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worry that Mum’s going to get angry at Chara for taking it.

You come back to your senses and they still aren’t saying anything. Blood’s welling up and dripping in thin streams down their arms. It’s getting all over the floor, but they’ve laid out a towel so the carpet doesn’t stain. The towel’s covered in red-brown stains already.

Still unsure of yourself – of everything, if you’re honest – you slump on your knees next to them and, with hands that are only shaking a little bit, you take the knife from theirs. You put it down carefully on the towel, but you can’t ignore how warm the handle is from where they’ve been gripping it.

You already know that they won’t explain, so you pull back the terrified ‘Why?’ from the tip of your tongue and say something else.

“Do…do you do this often?”

Their eyes lose something of their intensity, and they look far into the distance. You want to scream at them that you’re just in their bedroom: there’s no distance to be seen, there’s only the two of you so _why won’t they look at you properly_ , but you say nothing.

“Yeah.” Their voice drops into the pool of silence around you and you can hear it echoing, ripples in your ears. You take their hand.

“Chara, I don’t like this.” They listen to you when you’re selfish, sometimes. More than when you’re looking out for them or trying to be attentive to their emotions like your parents always taught you to be.

A thick laugh comes out of their mouth like a cough. Again and again, until they’re laughing and laughing, holding their stomach and flinging their head back.

“You…” they sneer, only it sounds brittle and rough and nothing like the sneering they do usually, “ _you_ don’t like this? You don’t _like_ this? You…you…” but the laughter floods them again and they can’t speak.

“Chara, stop!”

You’re scared: you’re so scared, and you don’t know what to do because you _can’t_ tell Mum or Dad, you just _can’t_ , because if you do then Chara will never trust you again. But you don’t know what to do. You know Chara better than anyone, but you don’t know what to do? That…that can’t be right…

Trying your best to calm yourself, you take Chara’s arms in your hands and unwrap them from their waist. They watch you as you do it, the last hiccupping giggles still bubbling in their throat. Their blood’s getting onto your fur, but you can’t even mind that it’s going to mat and get sticky. You look at them, trying to be as serious as you can. They’re not laughing anymore, so maybe you’ve succeeded, but you don’t know, you just don’t know.

“Chara, I’m _scared_ ,” you say. You’re trying to be grown-up and say the right things, but nothing sounds right to you. “This…this isn’t normal, this isn’t okay! Please don’t hurt yourself like this! Just…just talk to me about it, or talk to Mum, or Dad, or anyone, but please! There’s got to be a better way. This is wrong, Chara. I’m scared: I don’t know how to help you when you’re like this!”

Their thin frame shudders as they sit up to meet you, your noses almost touching. You don’t let their arms go and they don’t pull away. But they’re grinning again.

“Since when was this about _you_?” they ask.

“H-huh?” You’re flustered, uncertain because you can’t think straight when they’re staring at you like that: your heart’s beating wildly in your chest, louder than anything else. The sharp bite of tears stings your eyes and you can feel your mouth quivering already. You don’t know what to do. You can’t understand, you just can’t understand!

“Oh- ugh, no, don’t cry,” they’re frowning, but you think you prefer it to the blank stare and laughter from before. “Asriel, seriously, don’t.”

You don’t even bother protesting because this doesn’t seem like the right place for childish bickering, even though that’s all you want to go back to.

“Asriel…”

Your legs are going numb and you’re crying properly now, the world blurring in front of you. Chara sighs, and they sound annoyed with you for crying, which might mean they’re back to normal. You hope it does – you hope, you hope, but you don’t want to find out.

“Asriel, look at me.”

So you sniff and you’re about to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, but to your horror you find your fur’s sticking to Chara’s arms. They don’t react, even though it’s got to hurt to have you tugging at their cuts.

“Are you done?”

You nod.

Without blinking, they rip their arms from your hands and put a palm on the side of your face.

“You’re overreacting.”

That’s too much. “I’m not! This isn’t-” They slap the side of your face lightly and you stop talking.

“You are. Everything’s fine, Asriel. You’re not _really_ scared, are you? We’re together, aren’t we?”

You realise that they don’t say that to mock you: they’re know you’re scared, and they don’t know how to say ‘I’m sorry’ like other people do. They hug you, then, and it’s still so new to you that they’re okay with being touched like this that you don’t move at all. But you’re not so scared anymore, you think.

You think you understand them, and it wells up in your chest like syrup. This isn’t something they’d do for anyone else, you think (you hope), and this isn’t something they’d show anyone else.

That makes you feel warmer than it should, when you’re covered in and surrounded by your best friend’s blood.

 

***

 

Trying not to cry is getting harder and harder these days. You’ve tried all the tricks: thinking of happy things, smiling until your mouth’s all stiff and crooked on your face, swallowing to the point where your throat’s dry and the lump’s still there. They don’t work.

“Chara, I don’t…I don’t like this plan anymore,” you sniff.

Before, they’d laughed and said ‘too bad’, or they’d told you to get more flowers, or they’d told you to stop being such a baby. They just nod now, eyes hollow and sunken into their face. Their whole body is skin and bones – and you’d heard people say that before, but you’d never seen it as true as it is here. Every bone is visible and Chara’s skin is covered in sores, weeping through the bandages, bleeding through the sheets. Pus and blood are getting in your fur but you don’t care.

It feels like it’s the end of everything.

You’re trying to be strong like your dad, clever like your mum, perfect like Chara who always knows what to do, but you can’t be any of that: it’s just you, and you’re not enough anymore. Chara seems to want you there, though, as much as they want anything these days. Selfishly, you hope it’s not just for you to bring them more flowers. You hope that that isn’t all you’re good for now: to bring them poison and to drown in the guilt of it all. You never wanted this. You wish they’d laugh at you like they used to. You wish they’d make fun of you like they used to. You wish they’d play with you like they used to, letting you know that you’re the only one they’d ever want to play with. You’re the only one, the only one, so you’re the only one who can do this for them.

That’s all that’s kept you doing it.

You’re crying again, sobbing into their ruined chest, your voice a howling wail. It’s like you’re crying for them, now that they can’t. They can barely speak at all.

Their fingers graze the top of your head and you look up, frantic, to see if they want something. You were just _crying_ and not paying attention and what if they’d got worse and what if they were…they were…

But they’re just staring at you.

“Chara?” You swallow and try to get a grip on yourself. Just seeing the papery, blood-rimmed skin of their lips trying to open is enough to make your eyes hot with tears again.

“R…” It’s more breath than voice, but their forehead furrows and they try again. “Ree…”

“Y-yeah? Do you want anything? D-do you want me to get Mum?”

Their neck actually creaks with the effort of shaking their head. They’re still staring, but it’s like they’re expecting you to know why.

You think that’s unreasonable: you don’t know anything at this point.

“Do your bandages need changing?” You wait for them to nod, or blink, or show any sign that you’re right. They don’t.

“Do the sheets need changing? Are…are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you…do you want to see anyone? Chara…Chara, please, don’t…Don’t ask for the flowers again, _please_ …”

But they’re nodding – slowly, surely – and you want to run away from this room, from them, back to the garden with the Chara you knew before all this happened.

They cough, wheezing with the effort, and you’re dragged back to the present. Desperately, you grab their hands and try not to squeeze. It feels like they’d break if you did.

You can’t look at them anymore so you rest your head on their chest again. “Chara, it’s…it’s going to be alright. You don’t need any more flowers, it’s all…it’s a-all going to end soon. And…it’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

You’re just repeating their own words back to them now: a few sighs and curses fewer, in a voice a thousand times more scared, but these aren’t your words.

“You…you don’t need to be scared. We’re together, aren’t we?”

They don’t react, and you wonder if the words ever meant anything to them at all.

 

***

 

You’re in pain – _you’re in so much pain_ – but you hold back anyway, you run away instead of killing the humans that still scream and shout at you. Chara’s screaming too: telling you what an idiot you are, how you should never have hesitated, how the whole plan was ruined because of your actions. You think you can live with that, but that may be because you also think you won’t be living much longer. Chara’s body clutched against your chest, you stumble forwards.

“You’re so _stupid_!” Chara’s roaring, and you missed their voice so much that you don’t care how angry they are. “How difficult would it have been to just follow the plan?! It’s all ruined now, Ree! You didn’t kill a single one of them, it was all for nothing, and you’re dying! You’re _dying_ , do you understand?!”

You do, better than they know. You don’t feel like a little kid anymore, because if you were, you think you’d be crying.

“It’s okay, isn’t it?” you tell them, wincing as another bolt tears its way into your flesh. “We’re together, aren’t we?”

There’s silence, and then all you can hear from them is choked sobbing. You hold their broken body closer and run onwards.


End file.
